


show your mettle

by bluewalk



Series: 30_onepiece: Sanji [17]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluewalk/pseuds/bluewalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[#3 funeral] <em>hatred and rage, toxic disdain, and that suited him just fine</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	show your mettle

He decided after a year on the Baratie that he was never going to leave. He had decided it with the stubbornness of a small child who thought he knew best, and kept at it with the persistence of the neurotically grateful. He was going to prove himself, no matter how long it took, prove that he was worth it after all, in the end. He had to, even if it meant the rest of his life.

And when you were eleven, the rest of your life was a long, long time.

When he bought his first suit at the age of fifteen, they had laughed at him. A cook’s whites not good enough for you, boy? Whose funeral you going to? they had mocked.

He had dropkicked all of them and stalked away, grinding the filter of his cigarette between his teeth. The smoke no longer made him hack and cough, but the sleeves of his new jacket were still too long, and it made him look young. He hated that, but there was nothing to be done but to grow into it, in his own time.

And until he’s older and stronger, he could manipulate this image of himself, edit the lines of his body and scale the width of his shoulders. He could look however he wanted, neat and sharp and solid, grown-up and sophisticated and reliable. He could. That had to count for something. He’d start believing himself soon enough, and then surely Zeff would too.

Men in black three-piece suits didn’t go off looking for All Blue. They had jobs to do, things to take care of, obligations to honor. And so did he. Put that dream to rest. It isn’t for you anymore.

He told himself that in the mornings, knotting his tie tight around his skinny neck.

And whenever he told himself that, it got a little harder to breathe. Over time, he’d eventually learned to make routine of it, the pangs in his chest, the dizzying feeling like falling from a great, impossible height. It might be grief, but he never let himself linger long enough to explore it. But it felt that way.

He looked the part, straight lines and somber colors, shine of polished black shoes. He could do this. They said letting go was easy. Holding on was supposed to be the hard part.

The years stretched on before him, innumerable.

 

 

 

 

But.

Then again, they always said he was a contrary bastard. And he is, undoubtedly.

Rain Dinners is a classy sort of place, and he’s a classy sort of guy, when he wants to be. He fits right in, slinking through the crowd and up the casino steps. He adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and smiles around his cigarette.

 _Mr. Prince_. Crocodile’s voice when he said it was full of hatred and rage, toxic disdain, and that suited him just fine.

Oh, you’ve never seen a pirate like him. He guarantees it.

All Blue is waiting, like it always has.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 18 October 2011

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Chinese translation on "show your mettle"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/408550) by [renata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renata/pseuds/renata)




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